I feel the knife of confusion,
I think I might need a new gun.
Oh, thanks for the excruciating pain of breathing everyday.
Shadows are long and unmoving,
Is it because they're attracted to losing?
Words just aren't easy to come by as many of you fuckers know.
I've never been good at accepting what's coming, the better or the bad, similar and different.
My being my design, the layman shoves it all aside.
I'm sick and tired of the surprise, the endless cyclical malaise.
I'd rather make it better, make it better.
(Why won't this just go away?)
I'd rather make it better, make it better.
(Someone please take this from me.)
(just maybe maybe we're original)
(so save me save me from it all)
I've never been good at accepting what's coming, the better or the bad, similar and different.
I'm missing all of the right keys,
Insert them all in the wrong ideas.
I've never been good at, accepting what's in front of me.
Cynical control of everytime I spoke up.
We're all the same.
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